


explosions off in the distance

by thisstableground



Series: less than ninety degrees [18]
Category: Do No Harm (TV)
Genre: Meeting the Parents, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisstableground/pseuds/thisstableground
Summary: Between being orphaned and being from the world's most dysfunctional family, neither Usnavi nor Vanessa have really done a traditional meeting the parents before, but the Marcados are visiting New York, so no time like the present.
Relationships: Ruben Marcado/Usnavi (In the Heights)/Vanessa (In the Heights)
Series: less than ninety degrees [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/713601
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: continuing on the edited reuploads, sorry about the long break but a lot of life happened. the other edited stuff from _now's the time_ will all be up very soon, though, followed very shortly by (finally) a new installment! new year brings a whole lot of new fic that i'm really excited to get out there.

Twenty minutes into twenty-eighteen, Ruben is alone on a fire escape taking a breather.

He was inside for the countdown. For his first ever real New Year’s kiss. _That_ was pretty awesome, even though Ruben’s heart was racing at how many people were there who could see them all together, and even though Usnavi’s wasted enough that the delicate navigation of a three-way kiss escaped him and he ended up headbutting Vanessa. But Ruben's tolerance for parties remains almost non-existent, so here he is.

There’s the quiet clanging of shoes on metal, and “found you,” Vanessa says, leaning over the stairs to smile at him before she comes the rest of the way down. “Too much?”

“Kinda,” Ruben says. “But I’m glad we came. You can go back in if you want, I’ll only be a minute.”

“Nah,” Vanessa says. She ducks under where Ruben’s arms are resting on the railing, so that they’re close against each other with Vanessa facing towards him. She’s in heels. It’s a distracting height difference. “Eyes up here, babe. What’s on your mind?”

“Just...life. This time last year I was packing a suitcase. Well, not this exact time, it’s like midnight, but the general, uh, January. To move here,” he clarifies. “The suitcase was for moving here. ”

“Yeah, I got that much,” Vanessa says. She smirks at him. “So. Good decision?”

“It’s working out okay so far.”

“WHOOMP, there they is!”

And here’s Usnavi, more falling down the stairs than walking, a plastic champagne flute in either hand. He spills most of one and knocks back the other in one go. Earlier, he’d told them that he hasn’t had New Year’s day off work since he’s been old enough to drink. Apparently he’s embracing the opportunity to be disgustingly hungover with his whole heart, and most of his liver too.

“Ruben came out here for quiet,” Vanessa informs him.

Usnavi makes a zipping motion over his mouth.“Whoomp, there they is!” he whispers, just as enthusiastic. “Mis most radiant and bueno novio y novia, my New Year’s angels, are we chillin’ or illin’ on this here fire escape? Or potentially thrillin’.” He points at Vanessa and does an alarming thing with his eyebrows.

“You’re definitely gonna be chilled and subsequently illed if you spend too long out here dressed like that,” Ruben says. “How’d you lose your shirt in the two minutes I’ve been gone?”

“I didn’t _lose_ it,” Usnavi says. “I liberated it! I am warmed by the heat of freedom and New Year Whatevers! I could take off my pants too and it would not even be like, a thing.”

He pushes his empty champagne glasses into Ruben’s hands and starts unbuckling his belt.

“Yes,” Vanessa says. “I like where this is going.”

“ _No_ ,” Ruben says. “Frostbite dick is a bad way to start a year.”

Usnavi abandons his attempts to strip and presses a damp kiss to somewhere near-ish Ruben’s mouth instead. “I’d let _you_ frostbite my dick.”

“…What?”

“What?” Usnavi says, already distracted. “Hey! It’s twenty-eighteen! What’s everyone’s resoluciones?”

“New Year’s resolutions are just a play by the diet and fitness industry to try and shame people into spending a fortune on gym memberships and protein powder they’ll never use,” Vanessa says, smoothly enough that Ruben is instantly certain she’s been saying the exact same thing every time someone asks for several years.

“When did you get so cynical?” Usnavi asks, tutting

“If wanted to change shit I’d change it, it don’t make a difference what day of the year it is.”

Usnavi turns to Ruben instead. "Ruben, what’s yours?”

“Obviously it was to go to the gym and drink more protein shakes."

“You live your dreams,” Usnavi tells him earnestly. “We’ll show Vanessa when she comes back from California and you’re totally ripped. See who’s laughing then.”

“If Ruben ever gets ripped it’ll definitely still be me laughing,” Vanessa says, poking Ruben in the belly. “Don’t you dare. You’re perfect as you are."

“You’re only saying that because you’ll miss taking naps on me when I have an eight-pack.”

“Neither of you are taking this seriously,” Usnavi says. “You should do resolutions. We should all sit down and make a list tomorrow. Havin' goals is good for you!”

“Like you’ll even remember this tomorrow,” Vanessa scoffs. “Do _you_ have goals?”

“No,” Usnavi shrugs. “But this is gonna be a good year. It’s gonna be our year.”

“Well,” Ruben says. “Start as you mean to go on.”

He pulls them both in for a kiss, more successful than the messy end of countdown one. And if the whole year is like this, soft and close and champagne-tasting, he definitely agrees with Usnavi that it’s gonna be a good one.

“Y’all,” Usnavi says, not bothering to pull away. “I’m fuckin' freezin'.”

**

“Guess who isn’t dying!” Usnavi sings, walking into Ruben’s kitchen with his hands raised high.

“We’re all technically dying,” Ruben says. “Even the universe is dying.”

Usnavi stares at him for several long, blank-faced seconds then turns to Vanessa. “Vanessa!”

“Is it you?" Vanessa asks, with quiet relief. She would’ve assumed anyway – he’s seemed physically back to normal the past week – but still, good to know she can stop half-expecting him to keel over mid-sentence.

“It _is_ me!” he says joyfully, taking his hat off to throw it down on the kitchen table emphatically, disturbing several of Vanessa’s pens which roll off in all directions. He picks them up apologetically. “What’s all this for?”

“I’m studyin',” she says. “So it went good at the doctors?”

“It did,” he confirms, sitting down at the empty chair in between Vanessa and Ruben and putting his hat back on. “She says chances of me suddenly kickin' it are basically none so she don’t think I need to book in any more follow-ups, I can just call in if I feel like anything’s wrong. Estoy vivo, motherfuckers!”

“That’s awesome,” Ruben says.

“I mean,” Usnavi adds. “She did say that there still might be long term effects like on my mental health or my brain functionin’ but that’s nothin’ new anyway, so I guess we just take it as it comes.”

“Awesome,” Ruben repeats, and tugs on Usnavi’s hand so he’ll lean over for a kiss. “I’m really proud of you.”

“What, for not being dead? Yeah, thanks, no real effort on my part there, though."

Vanessa pulls him toward her for a kiss of her own.“That’s really great news, honey, must be a weight off.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been tryin’ not to worry about it, but...” he shrugs, and pulls Vanessa’s notebook towards him. “What are you studyin’ for?”

“Photography stuff, for work,” she says. “I wanna sound like I at least know a bit what I’m talkin’about. I shoulda started this weeks ago but I’ve barely had time to think.” Ruben and Usnavi are both clearly about to say something, so she adds, “and if either one of you even thinks about apologizin' I’m gonna fuckin' scream,” and they shuffle sheepishly. She takes off her glasses to press the heels of her hands against her eyes with a groan. “How did I trick them into hirin' me for this?”

“It’s a learning position,” Ruben says, which he’s been saying all afternoon, despite the fact Vanessa’s resolutely refusing to accept it. “They hired you because of your potential, not because they think you know everything already. You’ve been on shoots before, they must have seen you have raw skill. I’ve seen your photos, they’re really pretty!”

“Thanks, babe, but no offence, you wouldn’t understand fashion photography if it came and insulted that nightmare of a tie you’re wearing right to your face.”

“I like this tie,” Ruben says placidly. He shouldn’t. Vanessa’s not one to pick at the boys and their total lack of fashion sense but there’s gotta be a line, and that tie has crossed it. Before she can say anything, or take it off him so she can burn it in ritual sacrifice, Ruben’s phone rings. “Oh, I gotta take this. ¡Hola, Mamá! ¿Cómo estás?”

He leaves to take the call in the bedroom. Usnavi picks up Vanessa’s glasses and puts them on.

“I always forget you need these. Your prescription is crazy.” He closes his left eye, “all fine.” Then he switches to the right, “Terrible. Does that mean if I stand on your left when you don’t have them on then I just look like a big blur to you? Is that how I scammed you into datin' me?”

“I generally use both eyes at once,” she says, taking them off his face. “Gimme those, I gotta get this done.”

“You look so cute in glasses.”

“I look cute in everything. Fuck me, I’m so unprepared for this job. I don’t even know how to study. How the hell did Nina and Ruben spend their whole childhoods doin' this without losin' their minds?”

“Pretty sure they both did lose their minds.” Usnavi tugs her laptop charger towards him, twining the cable between his fingers. “You always did fine in school without studyin’, you don’t need to worry so much about it.”

Actually, she just did okay in school, but it’s hard to argue with Usnavi of all people on this point: he worked his ass off for his 2.0 GPA, and was just happy to graduate at all. And Ruben wouldn’t get it either, because he also worked his ass off and is off-the-charts genius. Vanessa took a lot longer to grow into the concept of trying: she could’ve done so much better than her distinctly mediocre 3.1, if she’d only given a damn back then.

“Yeah, I know. I just sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I’d put in more effort.”

Ruben comes back in. “It’s all set for Friday!” he says, beaming. “Oh, man, I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

Usnavi kicks his legs out excitedly, catching against Vanessa’s under the table. “What are you gonna do with them when they’re here? Can we hang out too?”

“Obviously,” Ruben says. “But I don’t have plans, actually. We already did all the tourist stuff back when Abuela used to live in the city, and I don’t know much outside of this block and college.”

“We’ll come up with somethin',” Usnavi says. “Give the Marcados the inside scoop from a coupla native New Yorkers, right, Vanessa?”

“Right,” she agrees, trying to sound as enthusiastic as he does. Oh, boy. Ruben had said his family were coming down some time in January, but somehow Vanessa had hoped that it’d be after she was safely on another coast, even when he said they were aiming for this weekend. She leans back into her laptop screen closer than necessary to read the work she was doing earlier, scribbling some nonsense down on the paper next to her and pretending she’s not holding the pen with a death grip. The meet the family thing isn’t something she’s ever had to deal with before. She supposes it was inevitable, in much the same way that death is inevitable but she’d still rather it not come knocking this fucking Friday.

“You look stressed,” Ruben observes.

“You can say that again,” she mutters.

“Do you want me to quiz you?“

“Sure,” she answers, and tries to let Ruben’s professor-voice and her own responses and Usnavi’s unhelpful commentary drown out everything she’s thinking about the weekend ahead.

***

“Will you sit the hell down, Vanessa? You’re making me realize what it must be like living with me all the time and I ain’t need that kind of self-awareness.”

Vanessa is pacing her living room, restless. She stops still at his words, shaking her head and running her fingers through her hair. Usnavi is momentarily distracted by how much she looks like a shampoo commercial, at least up until she points at him and says “You! Why ain't you freaking out too?! Why am I the only one who seems to grasp the, the bigness of it! We’re meetin' parents!”

“We’re meeting parent,” he corrects her. “And siblings.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

What’s got her all riled up about this? Usnavi gets on well with most people because he’s relentlessly friendly but he’s not gonna kid himself, Vanessa’s the most socially competent out of all of them. She was probably born knowing how to properly introduce herself to the not-quite-in-laws. Probably won’t even trip over her own feet while she tries to do it. “Is it a commitment thing? Hate to break it, but we’re already committed, querida.”

“No, that ain't the problem,” she says, flinging herself down on the sofa next to him. “The problem is that parents hate me.”

“Says who?! My parents loved you.”

He remembers it well: when Vanessa started doing her own grocery shopping way younger than she really should’ve had to, the way his mom would always slip a free packet of M&Ms in there, insisting she deserved a treat. Or when Vanessa would show up to neighborhood events alone while everyone else had their families alongside, the way his dad would shout “here she is, it’s Vanessa García!” and then pretend like she was some big movie star he was escorting through the party, saying things like “no paparazzi, por favor” and “stand aside, don’t you know who this _is_?” until she started giggling uncontrollably. There were always long stretches of time when Usnavi and Vanessa weren’t exactly friends, even if they were still friendly – they were in different grades, they had different social circles – but he thinks it’s at least partly because his parents liked her that sooner or later they’d end up drawing back together, regular like planets at a point of crossover in orbit, up till they starting spinning together. His folks would be thrilled to find out how things ended up between them.

Vanessa’s not buying it. “That don’t count, I wasn’t datin' you then. And your parents loved everyone so long as they were nice to you. But like, Nina’s dad hates me, so there’s one.”

“He does not! He just...uh.”

“Thinks I’m a bad influence on Nina? Thinks I’m not good enough to be her best friend?”

“He’s not as bad as he used to be,” Usnavi protests weakly. “Besides, he was like that with Benny too, you know he’s just overprotective.”

Vanessa sighs with her whole body, and quietly says, “even my own parents don’t like me very much."

“Oh, querida, _no_. Come here.” He pulls her onto his lap so he can cuddle her properly. “That’s a problem with them, not you.”

“Is it, though?”

Oh, Usnavi just can’t bear to see Vanessa sad. Especially not over this. He’s got his own family-related hang ups, sure, but growing up in a home without love was never one of them - he was always surrounded by it, unlimited and unconditional. He can’t imagine how much it must have sucked to not have that. Then again, he also can’t imagine how anyone could spend any amount of time around Vanessa and not want to give her the whole world and shower her with adoration, so none of it has ever made much sense to him, but that’s how things go sometimes.

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”

“Yeah?” she says, glancing his way.

“No, I mean, look at me. And if Ruben were here I’d say look at him too, but you can just imagine him in your head, look how _cute_ we are. How lovable and friendly and handsome and well-endo—“

“Is this going somewhere?” she interrupts. Usnavi notes victoriously that she’s trying to fight down a smile.

“Yes,” he says. “We’re all this and your dad still hates me and Ruben. Your mom at best thinks I’m a nice dude who’s draggin' you down because I ain’t smart or rich or a career guy. You’ ain't introduced her to Ruben even though he’s gonna be all three of those. Why’s that? Is it because you think they’re right about us being wasters or not good enough for you or whatever else they say?”

“No,” she says fiercely. “That’s because they don’t understand shit and they got terrible taste in people. You know I ain’t give half a damn about their opinion on you.”

“Then if they’re so wrong about us, why would they be right about you?”

"I...well...y’know?" Vanessa gives up and thunks her head against his shoulder disapprovingly. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“You know I’m right. You’re better than how they treated you, Vanessa, you’re the best. Anyone who don’t see it can go fuck themselves. Even Ruben’s mom, if she somehow ends up hatin' you, which is _impossible_ , but if she makes you feel bad I swear that I will fight her for your honor.”

“Don’t do that,” Vanessa says, and now she’s laughing, so Usnavi wins this conversation. “Ruben would be upset.”

“What, again?” says Ruben, and both of them jump. They didn’t hear him come in. “Don’t I get enough of that without you two actively plotting against me?”

“Usnavi’s gonna fight your mom,” Vanessa informs him.

“…Why?”

“Because Vanessa thinks your mom will hate her."

“It’s not like it’s gonna be the first time you’ve ever interacted with her. Anyway, Ma already thinks you’re both great.”

“Plenty of time for that to change,” Vanessa says, darkly. “I’m already shittin' myself over how I’m even supposed to say hello to her. Is it handshake? Cheek kiss? Polite nod? Do I call her Sra. Marcado? Sra. Ruben’s Mom?"

“Welcome to every single day in my social skills,” Ruben says. “She’ll probably hug you, and you can just call her Estefanía. There’s really nothing you’re gonna do that’ll make a bad impression.”

“What if I grab your ass with both hands right in front of her and say _hi, Estefanía, I’ve had your son’s dick in my mouth_?” Vanessa suggests.

“ _Hi, Estefanía, your son’s had_ my _dick in_ his _mouth?_ ” Usnavi adds. “Thanks a whole bunch for puttin' that in my head, Vanessa, you know how bad my impulse control is.”

“Okay, well obviously don’t talk about anyone’s dicks to my mom, she doesn’t need to know any more about my sex life,” Ruben says, then immediately looks like he regrets it when they stare at him with interest. “No, I'm not feeding you embarrassing anecdotes to mock me with.”

“But Ruben! Story time!”

“Nope.”

“Please,” Usnavi says. “For Vanessa, to cheer her up. She grew up in a broken home, you know, she needs all the help she can get.”

“It’s true, I do.”

“Eesh,” Ruben says. “ _Fine_. So remember how I was dead for a while?”

“Vaguely, yeah.”

“And you know how people’s families come to clear out their houses when they’re dead?”

“Yeah?”

“And you know how I have a number of, uh, personal adult items in my underwear drawer?”

“Oh _no_ ,” Vanessa says, cringing away violently. “Oh nooo, no, nope. Holy shit, dude, I woulda just stayed dead, I think.”

“Right?” He shudders, looking distantly horrified. “And my collection was _way_ weirder back then. I had a very experimental phase.”

“Auugh,” Usnavi groans, hiding his face against Vanessa’s arm. “Oh god, you poor thing. What did she even do with all of it?”

“I assume she threw everything away rather than making a shrine of obscure dildos for her dead son but it might surprise you to know we’ve never actually discussed it,” Ruben says. “But yeah, if you’re feeling nervous then just remember that nothing you do in front of my mom is ever gonna be worse than the fact that she knows I once owned a sex doll.”

“Fuck me, stop talkin',” Vanessa begs. “Oh my _god_ , Ruben. I don’t know if I feel better or if I’ll just never feel anything at all apart from secondhand embarrassment ever again.”

“You’re welcome,” Ruben says. “But seriously, it’ll all be fine. There’s literally nothing to worry about.”

***

“Cariño, are you worrying about this?” Ruben’s ma asks him gently. “Because you sound like you are.”

“No, Ma, I am _perfectly calm_ ,” he says, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can pull his sleeves over his hands with so much force he hears a stitch break in the shoulder. They’re flying out to New York tomorrow and he’s got vicarious pre-travel anxiety, even though it's barely an hour journey. “I’m just trying to make sure everything is organised. You’ve got your tickets?”

“Yes, we do. I have taken a plane before.”

“You’ll be careful? If anything seems wrong or if someone tries to come and talk to you, or if _he’s_ there, tell the flight attendant right away? They can have security waiting at the other end, or—"

“I know, sweetheart,” she says, and now she sounds sad instead of exasperated, which is a bummer. Why does he always end up doing this to people? “We’ll have a safe journey and we’ll be seeing you so soon, please just try and be excited about that instead.”

“I am excited,” he says, and it’s true. “I can’t wait for you to see where I live. I mean, it’s way smaller than my last place and it’s definitely falling apart but I like it a lot. And you finally get to meet them! You gotta remember though that Vanessa’s parents are dysfunctional as hell and Usnavi’s an orphan, so maybe don’t bring up anything about their families unless they start it off. And Usnavi gets really babbly when he’s nervous, but Vanessa gets really quiet and sometimes looks like she’s mad even though she isn’t, so if that happens don’t comment on it because it’ll make them both feel even worse, and if—“

“I was raised with manners, you know,” his ma says, amused again so at least there’s that.

“Sorry,” he says. “This is all really new. It’s not like I’ve ever had a partner to introduce to you before.”

“So of course the first time you do you come home with two at once. You never do things by halves.”

“I really want them to feel welcome. It’s...important to me.”

“It’s important to us, too,” she says. “Don’t you worry about it, cariño. We’ll all get along just fine.”

***

Vanessa and Usnavi are waiting in his apartment, both of them sitting up very straight and right on the edge of the couch like if Ruben’s family walk in unexpectedly to find them lounging they’ll be declared guilty of bad posture and banished from Ruben’s life forever.

“Okay, _now_ I’m shittin' it,” Usnavi admits, checking his watch again. Ruben’s gone to pick his family up from the subway station. “I really hope they like us. Do you think I should’ve showered?”

“You didn’t shower? Usnavi! We’re trying to make a good first impression here.”

“Well, I did yesterday, and I’ve not done anythin' sweaty since,” he says defensively. “I got a clean shirt on. Do I smell bad?”

“I can’t tell, I’m so used to you smelling bad,” Vanessa says, and he pokes her in the side. “No, you’re good.”

They sit in anticipatory silence for another ten seconds. It feels like a full decade.

“I’ll steal some of Ruben’s deodorant just in case,” Usnavi decides, then vaults over the side of the couch, does a side roll across the floor, and goes to Ruben’s bedroom leaving Vanessa to stew in her own nerves. Shit, did _she_ remember to put deodorant on? There’d be no reason to forget, it’s too much of a habit. She’s not like Usnavi who frequently malfunctions on his everyday tasks and sometimes forgets to do up his shirt or put toothpaste on his brush (or, one time when he was extra tired, just forgot to pick up his brush at all and stood at the basin squeezing the toothpaste out of the tube and staring mindlessly at it until Vanessa rescued him).

But now she’s worrying about it, so she goes to borrow some off Ruben too, and of course the second she steps into the hallway all of Ruben’s family spill through the front door. She freezes, hoping somehow maybe they won't see her.

“Vanessa!” Ruben says, all smiley. His family all gather expectantly for introductions. “This is my mom Estefanía. And Paola and Mercedes. Guys, this is Vanessa.”

“Um,” she says, intelligently. “Hey.”

She reaches her hand out to shake, but Ruben’s mom pulls her into a hug instead. “It is _so_ good to meet you, Vanessa,” she says.

Right then Usnavi pokes his head out of Ruben’s bedroom, grinning at all of them. Vanessa finds herself edging slowly behind Ruben like she’s trying to hide while their attention is elsewhere, and forcibly stops herself because she is not that pathetic.

“Hey!” Usnavi says, emerging properly and instantly going in for the hug for all three of Ruben’s family. Ruben’s mom looks overjoyed and returns it enthusiastically, the older girl - Paola? Vanessa’s already forgotten which one is which - accepts a politely brief hug. Mercedes takes a step back as Usnavi approaches, so he just tips his hat at her instead, unphased. “You’re all here! How was your journey? The subway’s a nightmare this time of day, hope you didn’t get _too_ much of that local flavor for your first impression.”

Ruben’s mom laughs, and says, “well, it’s not actually the first time we’ve been here. My mother used to live here before she moved to Rochester."

“Oh, that’s awesome,” he says. “Means you don’t need the tourist treatment, we can show you the _real_ city. Wait, did I introduce myself?”

“They can probably guess who you are,” Ruben says, laughing too, then he gives Vanessa a quick, knowing look, with his perfect radar for social discomfort. He takes her hand, and all three pairs of his family members’ eyes immediately zero in like locked missiles. Vanessa suddenly wonders, when was the last time Ruben’s family have seen him willingly touch someone who isn’t them? She instinctively goes to pull her hand away under the observation, feeling like somehow she’s done something wrong, but Ruben holds tighter and leans in very close to whisper “don’t make it weird,” and she can’t help smiling at that.

It’s not too bad at first. The flurry of introductions and the apartment tour and the making of coffee, which of course is Usnavi’s job, but Vanessa stands around next to him pretending to help too. And Ruben’s family really are nice - or, at least, his mom is incredibly enthusiastic, and Paola doesn’t talk much but when she does she's got Ruben's familiar friendly, slightly sarcastic edge, and Mercedes looks like she’s having a miserable time so Vanessa feels her on that.

She isn’t really a first impressions person. She’s not good at bubbly or bouncy or that high-pitched customer-service kind of pleased-to-meet-you thing that Carla and Dani were so good at. It’s never mattered before but this is like a test she's pretty sure she's failing.

Usnavi and Ruben are both on edge too: Ruben keeps asking everyone if they want drinks or food or if they want the heat turned up or down or— she leans harder against his side, because she can’t exactly sit on his lap or lie on him without that being an odd look but she’s pretty sure he needs some grounding pressure. He leans back into her. Usnavi next to them is almost doing a perfect impression of Usnavi when he’s not nervous, and if she didn’t know him so well she might not be able to pick up the subtle differences between normal manic patter and anxious mile-a-minute monologue, but the leg-bouncing is a major giveaway. Ruben rests his hand over Usnavi’s knee, not hard enough to hold him still but Usnavi stops the frantic movement at his touch.

“So how was Christmas?” Estefanía asks.

Usnavi launches off into storytelling mode, with Vanessa and Ruben chiming in. They cut out details like how Ruben was up at five in the morning because of a nightmare, or how Usnavi cried twice because the only other Christmas day he’s spent anywhere that’s not his old apartment was the one right after his parents died, or how her mom rang her up to say everyone keeps asking why Vanessa didn’t show at Tía Martina’s and it turned into a big argument before Vanessa hung up on her. They cut out things that just belong to them, like how they all drank spiced hot chocolate together on the fire escape in the early dawn and quietly watched each others breath misting and mingling in the cold air. Just fun stories, chaotic cooking and silly gifts and Ruben getting adorably tipsy on eggnog and rolling all the baubles off the tree around the floor.

Estefanía fondly says she used to despair of him as a kid - "buy him any amount of wonderful toys and he was always happiest just playing with the Christmas decorations, I don't know why I ever bothered" and Ruben gets all embarrassed every time she brings up any of his childhood stories or quirks. She tells them about their traditions, the things they do year in, year out, a little wistful. She probably missed him this year.

Usnavi’s leg is jiggling again, and Vanessa wishes she was sitting next to him in solidarity. She knows how he feels: tradition talk is uncomfortable. Tradition is for people with consistency, and that’s not how the García family rolls. When she was very young they’d go to her Abuela’s, except when they didn’t, and now they go to Tia Martina’s except when they don’t. Her mom always tried to make the holidays good, except when she didn’t. Sometimes they’d celebrate Christmas and sometimes Día de los Reyes, but only very rarely could they afford both, and there were a few years where they ended up celebrating neither. There were some good gifts, some good years, some good memories. But the same shared memories, year on year? Not so much, which makes hearing about everyone else’s still pretty much a huge bummer, no matter how hilarious stories about baby Ruben are.

So she’s been half-zoning out for her own sanity and has no idea where the conversation’s actually been at when she catches Estefanía saying “but of course when you three have babies of your own“ and Vanessa doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence because _Jesus fucking Christ what the fuck._

Ruben stands up quickly and says “you guys want more coffee? Vanessa, come help me carry, there’s more people than I’ve got hands.”

“Sure,” she squeaks and once they’re safely in the kitchen she gives him a wide-eyed look. Her heart is actually racing. Oh, this is worst case scenario conversation, and she knew it’d be coming one day, but give a girl some _warning_.

“I know,” he says, without her having to say anything.

“Babies,” she says, blankly. “Babies. Ruben, your mom just came here for the actual first time ever and started talking about if – _when_ we all have babies, implied together, implied babies that I grow and birth out of my body and look after forever. _Baby human children_.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, running both his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even think to tell her not to mention the b-word.”

“Well, yeah, why would you?” she says faintly, leaning against the counter and shaking her own hair out of her face. “Dude, six months in is way too soon for baby conversations. Hell, I’ve been dating Usnavi two and a half years and it’s still too soon for it with him as well.”

It’s also too soon to say _why_ she’d like to put off that talk as long as possible: Vanessa already knows what she wants. Or what she _doesn’t_ want, in this case.

She’s wondered, many times, if it’s because of how she was raised. If she’d had a family like Usnavi’s or Ruben’s, would she be singing a different tune right now? But in the end, does it matter what caused it? Doesn't change the fact she just doesn’t have that feeling, never has done. It’s not like she hates kids. They’re just kind of things whose existence she has no beef with but also has zero interest in getting actively involved in, like hockey or space exploration.

It’s too soon because while she hopes it’ll be something they can figure out, she knows that kind of thing can be a dealbreaker and Vanessa is not ready for that possibility, not with her boys. It doesn’t seem fair, that it might push them away from her. Not like she chose to not want kids. People tell her she’ll change her mind when she’s ready, or when she’s pregnant, or when it arrives. But not everyone magically changes their mind about an unwanted kid once it’s out, as Vanessa well knows.

“We absolutely don’t have to discuss it now,” Ruben says. “She, um, she has mentioned it once or twice to me, actually. I always let it slide because…she seemed so thrilled I was doing something relatively normal like being in a relationship, and normal for her includes having children, at some point. It was just nice to feel like I make sense to her for once, even if it wasn’t really honest.”

He looks so melancholy that she feels bad for him, pulls him towards her by his belt loops. “It’s okay. It just really caught me off guard. Like, I got answers prepped for that kinda thing but none of them woulda been appropriate to say to your mom.”

“She doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s her way of saying she accepts the relationship.”

“And will she still accept it even when I don’t pop out all the grandchildren she’s dreaming of?” Vanessa asks before she can stop herself.

Ruben seems unbothered. He probably guessed her position on this already.

“She’s not the one dating you, I am,” he says. “I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. You okay?”

Vanessa leans her head on his shoulder.“Yeah. Families are difficult.”

“I know, querida.” He’s been calling them endearments more often recently. It doesn’t quite come out natural sounding, like he’s still testing the words out to see how they fit in his mouth, but she likes it a lot and it makes her feel better right now. “Thank you for being here anyway.”

“Your family are really nice though.” To be honest she’s been too stressed to actually form much of an opinion on them yet. But she knows how much it means to Ruben for them to get along and sure enough, he relaxes at her words.

“ _You’re_ really nice,” he says. “You fit right in.”

Neither of which are true, but it’s sweet of him to say it.

***

The last time Ruben saw his family at Thanksgiving, it had been his _whole_ family: his abuela and aunts and uncles and cousins and their partners. They all treat him the way they do every time he sees any of them now, watching him like a hoard of anxious hawks the whole time. It’s easier to act like he isn’t doing better around them: to stay quiet, to refuse touch, to take the first opportunity to run and hide.

It’s tempting to do the same now. Like stagefright, he knows they’re all watching closely, searching for signs of the recovery he promised he’s making, waiting for the penny to drop. It’s hard to relax when he feels like one of his lab rats. It’s hard to be New York Ruben in front of them. And he doesn’t want to be Philadelphia Ruben in front of Vanessa and Usnavi. Worlds colliding.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” Paola asks.

“I...hadn’t actually planned that much. I don't really know what people...do?” 

“There’s a Three King’s Day parade El Museo puts on every year,” Vanessa offers. “I usually go to that.”

“That could be fun,” Paola says. Ruben fidgets. It doesn’t sound fun to him. Loud and crowded and too many people to keep track of. Music and yelling.

“Ah,” Vanessa says, immediately picking up on his restless concern. “That’s fine, honey, we’ll think of something else.”

“If you all want to go I can—” he says, then realizes how passive-aggressive _I can just stay here by myself_ is gonna sound, so he just makes a general gesture into the air.

“Rubén, you are not moping around your apartment alone while we all go out,” his mother reprimands him.

“Well, how about me and Vanessa take the girls to the parade, and you two can spend the morning together?” Usnavi suggests. “It’d be a shame for them to miss the opportunity.”

“Works for me,” Paola says brightly.

“Yay,” says Mercedes, in the flattest voice imaginable. She was as excited as everyone else when he met them from the station, shrieking his name and running towards him, but since they got back to Ruben’s place and met the other two, a storm has been descending. She’s been slouching further and further in her chair, playing on her phone, only talking when someone addresses her directly, and especially seems to have some objection to Usnavi, who’s been struggling all night to pull more than one-word answers out of her.

Ruben does _not_ like this.

“That sounds like a great idea. Ruben’s mom says firmly. “And Rubén and I will stay here and bake.”

“Really?” Ruben says. “That’s all you wanna do? You came all the way here—“

“To see you, which I will be doing,” she finishes. “We always bake together on Dia de Los Reyes. I missed it last year, cariño.”

“So did I,” Ruben says, wistfully. He’d half-regretted his decision to move when he did just before the holiday, but at the time his whole being was taken up with the need to be out of Philadelphia the very first opportunity. He’d called in on Facetime, of course, but he’d missed the warmth of home in his new sublet apartment, still essentially empty and not at all Ruben’s at that point.

“You'd only just moved here this time last year, right?” Vanessa says. “You didn’t spend it alone, did you?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, of course you did,” she says, resigned. “Ruben.”

“It’s not like I knew anyone! What was I gonna do, just kick in the door to whichever apartment had a recognizable flag hanging outside and say _feliz día de Reyes, when’s dinner?”_

“You knew me. I remember inviting you to the Rosario’s. You didn’t show,” Usnavi points out.

“Usnavi, it was literally the second time I’d ever met you, it took all my effort going out for coffee two days running.” The math clicks into place in Ruben’s head. “Holy crap, wait, that _was_ the second day I came to the bodega, on the 5th. We met a year ago!”

 _“Ruben_!” Usnavi gasps _._ “Happy meetiversary, querido!”

He sweeps Ruben into an enthusiastic - if kind of sideways because of how they’re sitting - kiss and everyone is definitely still watching but this time Ruben doesn’t have the brainspace going spare to care about it.

“A year,” Usnavi murmurs as he pulls away, hand still on Ruben’s cheek. “Isn’t that just crazy?”

“Yeah,” Ruben says, breathless. “Pretty crazy.”

Mercedes makes a quiet, disparaging noise and it's like someone cutting a string. Usnavi pulls his hand away from Ruben’s face, blushing. The shattered moment is uncomfortably heavy in the air and hangs onto him until Vanessa and Usnavi say their goodbyes and head back to Vanessa’s place. Ruben sees them to the door so he can kiss them unobserved, and gives himself a minute to collect his thoughts before he goes back to the living room and asks, “so?”

“Oh, cariño, I _loved_ them,” Ma says, soft and very sincere

“I knew you would,” he says. “I knew it. They're so great, right? Vanessa’s not usually that shy, but she thought you wouldn’t like her, which is obviously crazy.”

“She's wonderful,” his mom says. “And Usnavi! Such a sweet boy.”

“Usnavi’s _adorable,_ ” Paola agrees, to which Mercedes makes a face. Barely noticeable, but what are siblings for if not to immediately recognize and pounce on that shit?

He turns to face her head-on, crossing his arms and demanding “okay, _what_ is your problem with Usnavi?”

“I don’t have a problem with him,” Mercedes responds instantly, like she was expecting that.

“You’ve been making snide little faces and comments all night, and if I noticed it you can be damn sure he did, so you’d better explain yourself.”

“What, you want me to be wrapped around his finger like you three? Excuse _me_ for being more cautious about the kinda people you hang out with, but I’m not buying the nice guy act that easy again.”

“And just what the hell does that mean? Because if it’s what I think you’re implying…”

“I’m not implying shit, I’m saying it outright, the one and only time you’ve brought a dude home—“

“Mercedes, you watch your tongue,” Ma says. “Can we please just—“

“I did not _bring_ Ian home, and I’m the only one in this room who wasn’t all over him,” Ruben retorts, and feels bad that all three of them react, Mercedes looking down at the ground and Paola looking away and his ma gasping quietly, but he can’t stop to apologize now. “How _dare_ you compare Usnavi to him? Usnavi’s been nothing but good to me since the day I met him, and if you —“

“And your judgement has always been _so_ —“ Mercedes silences herself at a painful-looking nudge from Paola.

“Yeah, I’m so sure this one whole evening you’ve known him gave you plenty of time to figure it all out. Are you forgetting how he nearly got himself killed for me last month? Feel free to share with the class where you think that fits into whatever evil plan he has for me, if you’re so much smarter than the rest of us.”

“Rubén!” Ma says, a sharp warning.

“What?!” he protests. “How am _I_ getting the blame for this?”

“I’m not blaming you, but you _are_ the adult here. We’ve had a long day, I’m sure she’s just tired—“

“Condescending,” Mercedes grumbles.

“If you choose to act like a child then I will condescend to you as I see fit,” Ma snaps. “We’ve come all this way to visit your brother for the holidays, and Vanessa and Usnavi were both very sweet, and we are _not_ going to be rude, and we are _not_ going to shout, because if you shout too loudly it will scare the camels away and Dia de Los Reyes will have to be cancelled. Do you understand me?

“Yes, Mom,” Mercedes mutters, chagrined.

“Rubén?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now, both of you need to apologize to the camels.”

Oh, god, he hasn’t had to do _that_ one since he was a kid.“Ma, come on, I’m twenty nine y—“

“At this rate the only people celebrating with gifts tomorrow will be Paola and I.”

“I’m fine with that,” Paola says, then lifts her hands in surrender when Ruben and Mercedes turn to glare at her.

Ma taps her foot impatiently. Ruben quietly mumbles out a “sorry” and Mercedes chimes in with a reluctant “yeah, same”.

“You know that’s not good enough,” Ma says.

Ruben shares a look with Mercedes, animosity put aside in favor of uniting over the shared embarrassment of having a mother, and they chorus “lo siento, camellos” loudly and unenthusiastically.

“That’s better,” says Ma, satisfied. They leave it at that, but Mercedes barely speaks for the rest of the evening before they go back to their hotel. Ruben just hopes she got the message.

***

They ride the train back to Vanessa’s place in a semi-relieved silence at having got through the evening, but eventually Usnavi can’t hold back any longer. “So Mercedes definitely hated me, right?”

Vanessa nods. “Oh, man, yeah, she really _did_. What the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t know! I thought I was just bein’ normal me except dialled back to like seventy percent so I didn’t come on too strong, but I definitely was tryin’ to be _nice_. Did I fuck up?”

“No, honey, you were fine, you were great,” she reassures him. “Probably she just wasn’t feelin’ sociable. I mean, she _is_ Ruben’s sister. Or maybe she does actually hate you, who can tell, but I don’t think it was anything you did specifically.”

“You’re a real comfort.”

“Sorry, but from now on I have to direct all my comfortin’ energies towards my womb to make it a good environment for the horde of tiny García Marcado De la Vegas I’m apparently gonna be squeezin’ out of there.”

“Yeah, you did not look happy about that.”

“You think Ruben’s mom noticed?”

“Only because it was super obvious. I’m pretty sure Ruben only made you go get coffee with him because he was worried your eyes were gonna go so big they’d just —“ he makes a popping noise “—fall right out of your head.”

“Ugh. Do you think we did okay?” she asks. “I can’t believe you signed us up for a whole day babysitting.”

“We tried our best, that’s all we can do,” Usnavi says. “And lighten up, it’s not like they’re actual children, it’ll be fine. I just thought Ruben might like to spend some time with his mom.”

“And you want some time to persuade the kid to like you.”

“That too,” Usnavi says. He’s not used to not being liked. Or at least not for no apparent reason, but Mercedes had been side-eyeing him from the second he stepped out to say hello and hadn’t stopped all night, so he at least wants to know why.

The rest of the journey passes in silence and as they get off at the stop nearest Vanessa’s apartment she says, “did you spend the entire evening thinkin’ about the sex doll thing too?”

“Oh my god, it was _all_ I could think about,” Usnavi says.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, after gifts and breakfast and polite conversation, Ruben gets Usnavi and Vanessa alone in the kitchen. “I know yesterday wasn’t ideal,” he says ruefully. “I spoke to Mercedes but if you don’t wanna go to the parade with them then I’d understand.”

“It’ll be fine! What’s the worst that could happen?” Usnavi says.

“Don’t answer that,” Vanessa adds quickly. “I’m sure whatever you think of would be terrible but we got this. Have a good day with your mom, and you better have some cake waitin’ on the table for us when we get home, you hear?”

“I’ll be the best 1950s housewife you ever had,” Ruben promises.

“Nice. You gonna have a cute little flowery apron and curlers in your hair?” Usnavi says.

“You have the weirdest kinks.”

Usnavi starts to object “okay, first of all—“ but Ruben shuts him up with a kiss, which turns into two, which turns into making out while Vanessa threads her fingers through Ruben’s hair.

“Oh! Lo siento, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” Ma says. She’s suddenly standing in the doorway, a hand theatrically covering her eyes. Usnavi makes a ridiculous _meep_ sound. Vanessa snatches her hand away fast. Ruben sneaks a quick glance and they’ve both gone bright red. “If you three need a minute—“

“Ma, please,” Ruben says, mortified. She peeks through her fingers as though checking they’re decent before she takes her hand away. Vanessa starts giggling awkwardly beside him.

“I was just wondering what time you needed to leave.”

Usnavi checks his watch. “We should head off now actually, if we don’t wanna miss the start.”

They head off in a tangle of hugs and noise and _hurry it up_ s, and Ma says “we should go too, Ruben, we’ve got a lot of work to do this morning.”

It’s still strange getting used to going to a new store. He points out Usnavi’s bodega as they pass by on their way to pick up baking supplies: the new owners haven’t opened whatever its gonna be yet, so the sign still reads De la Vega Bodega and the grate is still pulled down. Today there’s a small group of candles beside the mural, safely tucked away from careless feet, protected from the bitter wind by the glass jars all shapes and sizes that contain them.

A year and a day since the first time he was there. Ruben gets a sudden longing to just go inside and get coffee, to sit on the counter listening to Usnavi and Vanessa fondly bickering with each other. No wonder Usnavi didn’t want to live in the apartment once the store was gone, having to walk past this every day. Nostalgia aches, even after only a year of knowing somewhere.

Ruben makes sure to buy the only bunch of overpriced flowers left at the store, and lays them near the candles by the grate on the way back. Everything else he unpacks on the kitchen counter, laid out in neat rows in the order they’ll need to use them.

He loves baking. It’s very rare there’s knives involved, which made it a good way for him to get back in the kitchen when he was dealing with his post-Jamaica eating problems, and the whole process of measuring and adjusting and checking everything is kind of like the lab but without the life-threatening stakes. Plus, having something to keep his hands occupied has always made it a lot easier to talk to his mom about things he’d rather not talk about.

“The baby thing,” he says, measuring out flour. “It wasn’t, uh, that’s not something that we’ve even considered, actually. Babies. And the having of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I made things awkward, mijo, I just assumed with how serious you three are you’d have talked about it by now. It’s never too soon to start thinking about your future.”

Ruben actually finds thinking that far ahead kind of terrifying. He only just started to realize that he _has_ a future. “It’s too soon to think about that. I don’t know if it’s ever gonna be the right time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think that fatherhood is where my life’s headed. Ever. Pretty sure Vanessa doesn’t want children either. I don’t know about Usnavi.”

“Well, you’re all still so young to decide these things, you shouldn’t—“

“You just said it wasn’t too soon to think about our future,” he interrupts, as non-accusatory as possible. “I’m almost thirty. It’s a little patronizing to say we’re too young just because now you don’t agree.”

She sighs. “I just don’t want you to feel like what happened to you should hold you back from getting the things you want. And if Vanessa has only decided she doesn’t want children because of her family problems, perhaps this is true for her too.”

“If Vanessa decides something it’s because she’s damn certain about it. You can think what you want, but I’m asking you to please not bring it up again.” He takes a deep breath and says, “sometimes I think you worry so much about me that you don’t actually trust me with my own decisions,” then immediately busies himself kneading dough instead of looking at her.

“Perhaps sometimes I don’t,” she says eventually. “You never were as happy as you deserve to be. Sometimes I worry that you never will be. That you won’t let yourself be.”

”I know you want me to have a good life. I need you to know I can have that without having the things that make _your_ life good, even if what I do want is strange to you.”

“I’m only trying to help. I don’t mean for it to make you feel…I don’t know. Like you aren’t normal.”

“But I’m _not_ normal,” he says, and waves off her disagreement. “It’s okay. I don’t mind, I really don’t. I’ve got an amazing girlfriend and a wonderful boyfriend, and they’re not normal and neither is our relationship, and I _am_ happy, Mamá, I’m so happy. Life’s not so bad.”

“My Rubén,” Ma says, so much pride that it feels like something cracking open inside him. “Oh, mijo.”

She hugs him, even though he’s all covered in flour and dough, and he lets himself relax: of course it wasn’t going to be a big fight, but he sometimes wishes he only ever had positive things to say to her. Then she pulls away wiping her eyes and picks up a wooden spoon to tap him gently on the back of his hand, saying “those buñuelos aren’t going to make themselves, what are you waiting around for?”

***

The parade is beautiful, as always, and Vanessa revels in the happy chaos. It’s days like this she’s most glad to live in the city: her immediate family might be a mess, but at least she still has a way to enjoy a bigger kind of tradition. It makes it feel like the streets are for her. Familiar beats and deep saturated colors, kids all wrapped up in winter clothes wearing the paper crowns that remind her of sitting on the floor at Nina’s place years ago, the two of them carefully cutting and pasting and coloring their own crowns, making sure they matched enough so that everyone knew just from looking that they were best friends.

“Mercedes,” Paola says suddenly, glancing around and sounding panicked. Vanessa’s heart stops a moment when she realizes Mercedes isn’t where she was before - okay, she’s not a child, but it’s a big dangerous city to be a stranger in, and imagine telling Ruben and his mom that they lost his sister somewhere in New York - before she sees she’s still behind them, just several feet rather than a few steps away.

Paola breathes a sigh of relief and shouts “Mercedes! Come on!”, motioning her over. Mercedes slows her pace even more.

“Did we do something?” Usnavi asks.

“No,” Paola says. “She always does stuff like this when we’re out with mom too, ever since...y’know, Ruben. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe she just wants to see if anyone realizes she’s gone,” Vanessa suggests.

“Mom freaks out if we’re ten minutes late home from school,” Paola says. “Not much chance of it going unnoticed. Mercedes, get _over_ here!”

Mercedes comes to a complete standstill.

“Oh, for—“ Paola starts towards her with an aggrieved sigh, but Usnavi stops her.

“Let me talk to her?” he asks, with that look that means he’s going to Usnavi the hell out of this situation. Paola gives him a close stare then makes a _fine, you deal with_ it gesture. He nimbly weaves upstream against the crowd to where Mercedes is still standing, pointedly staring at the oversized puppets now passing her by and pretending she doesn’t notice him, while Vanessa and Paola stand to one side, leaning against a wall.

Paola watches the parade and her sister with a paranoia rhythm: towards the action for about ten seconds, then glances to make sure Mercedes is still there, then back to the passing marchers. So far, from what Vanessa can tell, Paola is quiet. Not in the obvious, angry way Mercedes has been; she seems like Ruben, or more accurately what Vanessa guesses Ruben might have been once upon a time: something that’s not as wispy and ethereal as _shyness_ sounds, but still holding back in some way that’s hard to pinpoint. Hard to strike up a conversation with, too.

Vanessa searches out Usnavi with her gaze and finds him waving for her attention, yelling despite being clearly too far away for her to hear him over the music.

“What,” she shouts back, with an exaggerated shrug.

He yells again, inaudible, doing some kind of complicated pantomime with his arms. Vanessa holds her phone up in the air and he points at her with both hands like _yes, good idea_ , then takes his own phone out.

“Dumbass,” she mutters affectionately, shaking her head.

**Usnavi:**

\- gonna ditch the crowd and have a convo, back in 5

Vanessa types back, “we’ll be here. don’t let the teenager bully you,” then explains “Usnavi’s gonna have a chat with her,” to Paola, who gives one last searching glance to see which direction they leave in, then nods.

“I don’t know why she’s being such a brat this weekend,” Paola says. Vanessa shrugs.“She’s been like that since I sent off my college applications. She thinks I’m selfish for going.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa says, neutrally. She didn’t come prepared with sage advice. “And what do you think?”

“I just want to carry on with my life,” Paola says. “But Mercedes is always angry at everything, and I know Mom would rather we all live with her forever, and Ruben’s here, so I’m the one who has to keep everyone together at home, which I can’t do if I leave. So. I dunno.”

Ugh. Okay so maybe she does have sage advice for this particular situation, actually, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about having to give it. Fucking Marcados. Once upon a time Vanessa was getting through life on easy street and then along comes Ruben and it’s big feelings conversations out the ass all the live-long day. _It’s not too late to just be the weird aunt who lives in eternal spinsterhood in Nina’s attic_ , she tells herself, but she’s attached to the boys now, and Ruben would want her to help his sister out, and anyway she kinda feels for the kid, so here she is.

“You’re too young to have to worry about keeping a family together,” she says. “Sometimes it’s just time to do your own thing. I think you’re all close enough that you’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not like I wanna leave them,” Paola says. “If I could I'd live both lives.”

“Yeah, I hear that. But if someone cares about you, they won’t ask you to give up the things you want. Not the important things, anyway. Your brother knew he needed to leave Philadelphia and you learnt to cope with that, right?”

“Being there reminds him of what happened,” Paola says. “I know that. Mercedes was mad at him for weeks after he left, though. She didn’t tell him, but she was, and now she’s mad at me too.”

“Mercedes is fifteen years old, you telling me you don’t remember how everything is the worst thing ever when you’re fifteen? It’s a shitty age to be stuck at.”

“That’s very true,” Paola says with a shudder, and then she laughs. “Hey, welcome to the family, I guess. You must be so done with all our issues.”

"Eh, Ruben puts up with my shit enough, it balances out. Come on, we’re missing everything, let’s go back in and they can catch us up. Usnavi will look after your sister.”

“Hm,” Paola grumbles. “If she even listens to him. I don’t get why she’s being this way, _I_ really like him. And you, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Vanessa says. “Usnavi’s got a way of winning people over.”

***

Alright. He’s got one unhappy kid here, time for Usnavi to save — well, it’s not Christmas, but _time to save Dia de Los Reyes_ doesn’t have the same bounce to it. He doesn’t actually have a plan, but he never does anyway.

“Hey,” is his winner of an opener when he gets to Mercedes, who’s hanging back and towards the edge of the movement where the crowd is thinner, but they’re still both getting bumped around standing still in the middle of foot traffic.

Mercedes gives him an unreadable look then hugs her arms around herself, looking away. “Hey.”

“You’re missin’ the parade,” he says. “Come walk with us?”

“I can see fine from here,” she says.

“Then I guess we’re both stayin’ here.” Usnavi watches her out the corner of his eye, and asks, “why don’t you like me?”

“What?” she says, unconvincingly. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

“I can read between lines when they’re billboard size,” he says. A man trying to push past them stumbles: Usnavi puts an arm out to stop him falling against Mercedes. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you this mad at me. I ain’t sayin’ you have to like me, but this is gonna be uncomfortable for everyone if I can’t at least pretend not to notice, and I can’t do that if I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you. Will you just tell me?”

“I don’t not like you,” she says. “I…Jesus, can we talk somewhere I’m not being elbowed in the head every five seconds?”

“It’ll be quieter down a side street,” he says. “Hold up, let me tell Vanessa where we’re goin’.”

It’s still kinda busy off the parade route, people headed off to follow it or just going about their day-to-day, but it’s quiet enough they can sit down on the curb without getting trampled. “So what’s the deal?”

Mercedes pokes her finger through a tiny hole in the knee of her jeans, pulling at the loose threads so it gets bigger. “Can you tell me why I should trust you with Ruben? One good reason?”

“Uh. I…don’t know. Um, Ruben trusts me with himself?”

“If I say that’s not enough?”

“That’s really all I got,” he says helplessly. “I mean, if you don’t trust me anyway you got no reason to believe anythin’ I say, so what difference would it make me tryna argue?”

“No _I_ ’ _m a good guy, I swear?_ Not gonna play the _I_ _got beat up for him_ card like Ruben did?”

“Seems kinda cheap to play it for myself,” he says. “To be honest, I’d prefer to forget that one’s in my hand.”

“He was in your store,” Mercedes says softly, and it takes Usnavi a minute to figure out she means Jason.

“Yeah,” he answers, trapping his hands between his knees so he can resist the urge to rub at his throat.

“He came to our house once,” she says. Usnavi has to do some quick mental shuffling to place the events - right, Ruben said Ian had shown up for dinner the night he dragged him out to that rave thing. Mercedes scuffs her sneaker into the ground and continues, “Ruben was real moody for the whole thing and we all thought he was just being Ruben, sometimes he’s like that. After they left together we all talked about how nice it was that Ruben finally had a friend, and how cool he seemed, and how funny Ruben was for wanting to stay in all night like he always does. And then we didn’t hear from him again until he called Mom from the airport.”

Oh. “I’m not like either of them.”

“That’s what Ruben and Mom said. And I don’t _wanna_ think you’re like them, but the last time some guy came round with the charm turned all the way up, we all fell for it and it could’ve been the last time I ever saw my brother so I can’t— I just can’t.”

“Oof. Fair enough," Usnavi murmurs. That’s a hell of a thing for a kid to have on her shoulders. "You wanna go back now?”

“What, you’re just going with it, as easy as that?”

“Yeah, as easy as that. I’d be wary too. I get it.”

“How could you possibly get it?” she says, bitterly.

“’Cause I know what it’s like to not recognize warnin’ signs and lose family because of it,” he says, sounding a lot colder than he meant to.

“Shit,” she says, blushing with horrified embarrassment. “Oh my god, I totally forgot, Ruben told us not —sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Usnavi says. “It ain’t your problem.”

“This isn’t the same as your, your thing, though,” she says. “Ruben came back, and he’s got a whole life now. How come I’m the only one who’s still stuck? Everyone else is moving on but I don’t know how to.” Her voice rises from sullenly serious to the tight pitchiness of tears. “Ruben came here and Paola’s going to college and Mom’s talking about moving too. And Dad keeps just acting like nothing happened whenever we go stay with him, ’cause it’s not as if Ruben’s his kid, so what can he do about it? But it’s still all I can think about and it’s been nearly two years, and my friends are being weird too. They understood more when we thought he was dead, but then he came home so it’s like, it’s like—“

“Like they all expect you to go back to how you used to be again,” Usnavi finishes. “Like they can't understand you’re gonna be different forever now.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t know what to tell her. He’s not in the best place right now to say it all gets better. It does, but sometimes the bad stuff comes back round again, sometimes feels like it never went away, and he doesn’t think that would be comforting. “If your mom is thinkin’ about movin’, that means you get a fresh start too,” he points out.

“Great. So instead of all the people at school remembering how I used to be and not liking the new me, I can just skip straight to the people not liking the new me. How am I supposed to care about dumb stuff like who’s got a crush on who or if I’ve done my homework? It’s all so _...small_. I don’t know how to care about it, but I don't wanna just be the weird girl with all the issues.”

“That don’t have to be all you are,” Usnavi says, with a de ja vu he can’t quite place. “Look, I didn’t even know Ruben when it happened and I have genuine goddamn nightmares about what he’s told me. So does he. So does Vanessa. After what happened to your family, it ain’t no surprise if it still has an effect on you, or if it’s hard to find stuff in common with your friends.”

“So what, I’m just doomed to not have friends at all until I either magically get over it or find someone else who’s brother got tortured so we can bond? Awesome.”

“Not exactly what I meant, no.” Usnavi feels ancient right about now. “I’m just saying that when you do find people who get you you’ll be even closer to them ‘cause it’s special. You find things that make it worthwhile. And a lot of that is the stuff that seems small and dumb right now. Only one destination on this ride, kid, make the journey count.”

He stands up and holds out a hand to Mercedes, saying, “we could start by going to the parade and having a good day today. You don’t wanna let Vanessa and Paola have all the fun, do you?”

Mercedes stays sitting, her ripped jeans abandoned in favor of chewing on the cuff of her sleeve like Ruben does. “Do you think Ruben will still be mad at me for being such a bitch to you? He was really angry yesterday.”

“Dunno. Do you think it’d help if we took a bunch of dumb photos together and I’ll buy tamales for everyone?”

“I don’t see how that would help,” she says. “But I do like tamales. Are you _actually_ this nice?”

“Yup,” he says, and when he offers his hand again to help pull her up, she takes it.

***

The next day, with Three King's out of the way and a tentative calm between him and Mercedes, Ruben takes his family to work. It's about the only place he goes regularly that he can think to show them, and in his own way, he's proud of it.

His mom came to see the lab at IMH once, when he was promoted from tech to having his own private-ish workspace. That past version of himself probably wouldn’t have have bothered bringing his family to BMCC, wouldn’t have seen anything to be proud of here. It’s not a state of the art lab bustling with activity seven days a week, its not a promotion into a glass-walled room of his own full of equipment which his mother examined with an impressed but baffled expression.

Been there, done that. This is just a standard office, small and shabby, could belong to any professor in any college in any state except for the personal touches. The mug a few of his students got him for Christmas that he’s currently using to hold his pens. Fidget toys dotted around, some his own and a couple from Abigail who he shares an office with, little things she finds in dollar stores that she thinks he might enjoy after she caught him fiddling around with a stress ball once. And Abi herself is there working on something, slouched back in her chair with her feet on the desk and her computer keyboard in her lap, typing furiously.

“Hello, trouble,” she says like she always does, smiling over her shoulder at him, then noticing he’s not alone. “Oh! We got company. Hi.”

“This is my family,” Ruben says, notes the faint surprise on Abi’s face as he introduces them all: he doesn’t usually let his home life get anywhere near his work life. Just in case, and also because he enjoys her continual guesses at his mysterious past. She always ignores the actual story in favor of her own ideas, and recently has been elaborating on an extended theory that he’s some kind of undercover Mulder-type FBI agent investigating the weird occurrences at the college for signs of alien activity.

"So what inspired you to come here of all places?" Abi asks. "New York's got better attractions than our office, bud."

“Just a fly-by visit,” he says. “Showing them where the magic happens.”

“Are you amazed and astounded yet?” she asks his family, spinning one full rotation in her chair with her arms outstretched to indicate the whole cramped space. “He’ll be off to bigger and better things in no time, don’t worry about that. This one’s going places.”

“I think you’re just trying to get rid of me so you can have the office to yourself again.”

“Obviously,” she says, standing and packing some papers haphazardly into her satchel. “But come on, Ruben, we all know this is only a pitstop for you. Remember me when you’re winning all those Nobel Prizes, yeah?”

“That’s not happening any time soon, Abi,” he says with a laugh that aches just a tiny bit. She always says stuff like that. In another universe, maybe.

“I give it a month,” Abi says confidingly to Ruben’s ma, who nods as though she’s agreeing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ruben. Other Marcados, fantastic to know you exist, enjoy the rest of your trip.”

She nods at them as they chorus their goodbyes, and swirls out of the room with her long cardigan flaring out behind her like a cape.

“She seems nice,” Ma says.

“We get on well,” Ruben says, because _nice_ isn’t exactly accurate. Abi’s abrasive, pessimistic in a dryly ironic way which can sometimes be draining. But she’s never deliberately cruel, and if she has a homicidal alternate personality then she has the decency to keep it it out of the workplace, so there’s definitely worse people to share a space with.

He resolutely doesn’t think about whether she’s right. Not about the Nobel Prize, that’s a dream he’s pretty sure is out of reach by now, but about moving on so soon after settling in here. Going back to work in any capacity after so long off was a strange transition when he first started. Talk about the first day jitters: he’s had his share but never quite like walking into a room full of new coworkers who all turned to stare at him with knowing eyes, like stepping up to the stand in court. He got used to it. There’s people he’s learned to avoid, there’s people he knows talk about him behind his back in that pitying-fascinated way, there’s things about Ruben that aren’t quite secrets but he hoards and hides them as though they are: the locks he installed on his desk drawers, no photos of his family on the desk, no desktop wallpaper on his computer. The illusion of anonymity even though everyone knows he’s here just like everyone knows where he came from, like everyone knows what’s under his sleeves. It’s a fact of life he’s learning to accept.

In spite of all that, he likes it here. He likes that if someone asks something too close, he can just say _my last job_ and they all know what that means and generally they let it lie. He likes sharing an office with Abi who is aggressively on his side on the occasions that people _don’t_ let it lie. He likes that he’s good at his job, that he feels important in a totally different way to how he did at IMH.

“So?” he asks and he can’t keep the smile out of his voice.

“It’s cute,” Paola says, “but I’m still not coming to college here.”

“Your loss. Think of all that nepotism you’re missing out on.” 

“I like your desk toys,” Mercedes says, picking up the liquid hourglass from his desk and watching the blue bubbles drip down hypnotically. “Really got those Serious Professor vibes.”

“It suits you,” his mom tells him. “It really does.” 

***

It’s an overcast and miserable-looking day, the sky a flat gray nothing of indifferent weather conditions, but it doesn’t take away from Vanessa feeling pretty damn good about walking round Bennett Park with Usnavi while they wait for Ruben and his family to show. Usnavi’s been big into the long walks thing now he has the time for it, further confirming Vanessa’s suspicion that he’s part puppy. She’s just relieved to see him getting out of the apartment. He’s still struggling without the store, she knows, but more stable: a not-quite-a-smile of contentment on his face, humming softly the way he does when he’s not paying attention to anything specific. It’s infectious. Vanessa hums along too, and Usnavi wiggles his fingers where they’re linked with hers in happy acknowledgement.

It’s easy to borrow from his good mood even when the Marcados show, and Vanessa feels less out of place now among the chatter, talking about some of the stories from growing up here - not so much the ones about playing hooky with the stoners in high school, but from easier, earlier days when parks were just for playing in with friends rather than escaping from life. They’ve heard a bunch about Ruben’s childhood so it seems only fair to share anecdotes from Usnavi’s ("remember that time you tried to be a goth and wore a dog collar and eyeliner for like two weeks?"). He matches her story for story with dumb things Vanessa did as a kid (“remember how you wanted to be a cool skater girl but you never learned to skate so you’d just walk around here carrying a board all the time and you got super-mad at me for blowing your cover and told me you’d never speak to me again?”).

Ruben’s clearly enjoying their self-inflicted karma for all the teasing he’s been dealing with this weekend, and chimes in with, “Hey, did Ma ever show you that video of us here when Usnavi got stuck—“

“Not necessary,” Usnavi interrupts loudly. “Irrelevant. Unneeded. _Mean_.”

Ruben ignores him, pulling up the video on his phone of their first park date way back when. Usnavi looks at Vanessa with betrayal writ all over his face as though he’s expecting her to help. She blows him a kiss. He flips her off, though he checks to make sure Ruben’s mom isn’t watching first.

“Why would you—“ Paola starts.

“It was for science,” Usnavi says haughtily. “Ruben should understand.”

“He said _bet I could still fit in one of those baby swings_ and I said _you’ll get stuck_ and he said _oh yeah? Watch me!”_ Ruben elaborates.

“I did fit in it,” Usnavi argues. “It was fitting out of it that was the trouble.” He squints over at the play area several feet away from them, then gives Mercedes a considering look. “I bet _you’d_ have no problem.”

Mercedes makes the shape of a frame with her hands, then holds her thumb out over the swingset with one eye closed like she’s measuring it, and says, “I think you’re right.”

“Generally I’ve found that if either of these two start a sentence with _I bet_ that's a good cue to run in the opposite direction,” Ruben warns her.

“A challenge!” Usnavi whispers loudly to Mercedes, who smiles at him and wanders off to test the hypothesis, Usnavi and Paola behind her. Whatever Usnavi said to Mercedes at the parade seemed to have flipped her opinion a complete 180 by the time they were back home yesterday, but that’s no surprise, there’s not many people can survive a conversation with Usnavi without his gravitational pull dragging them in to his orbit. What did surprise Vanessa is they seemed to like her too, in a quiet sort of way. It must be nice to have sisters, maybe. Probably for the best that she’s an only child, but in some other world that would’ve been cool.

“You coming?” Ruben asks, and Vanessa hesitates for a second, long enough that Estefania chimes in for her and says, "we'll wait here."

And that’s how she ends up being left alone to make conversation with Ruben’s mom. She sits on top of the backrest of the bench, trying to figure out how to project _please let me just sit here in silence_ with body language without it coming across as rude, but clearly she fails because Estefanía says, “you don’t need to be so on edge. We’re really not that judgmental.”

Vanessa thinks of Mercedes and can’t help but raise an eyebrow the tiniest bit. Estefanía spots it right away and amends with “though maybe a little overprotective.”

“I’d say that's pretty justified,” Vanessa says. She slides down to sit on the bench proper. “I ain’t used to this stuff, that’s all.”

Estefanía hums and nods. They both watch the others: Mercedes, it turns out, can fit in a swing and is now demonstrating how easily she can climb back out of it while Usnavi throws his hands in the air like he’s mad about it. Estefanía smiles over at them and then at Vanessa, saying, “Marcado is actually my maiden name, has he ever told you that?"

“No?”

“He was Ruben Manuel Marcado-Chavez on his birth certificate. But he stopped using the Chavez when he was nine, and we had it legally changed when he was eleven. I told him perhaps he shouldn’t be so eager to leave that part of himself behind, and he said _well maybe someone should have told Dad that first_ , so how could I argue? Things like that are simpler to him. And he wasn’t wrong.”

“Sounds like he was a real little smartass,” Vanessa says, fondly. It strikes her that other than knowing Ruben’s dad is about on a level with Vanessa’s own, he’s told them very little about that side of his family, something else on the neverending pile of Ruben mysteries.

“The more things change,” says Estefanía, with a laugh. “When he… came back to us, he said he’d kept his name the whole time even though it was so dangerous. That he’d chosen to be a Marcado and couldn’t bring himself to change it. And he said the same thing after _that man_ showed his face again last month.”

Jesus. Would Vanessa keep her last name, in the same circumstances? Does being a García mean as much to her as being a Marcado does to Ruben? She doesn’t know the answer to that. She’s not sure that she wants to know. 

They silently observe as Usnavi tries to persuade Ruben to do something - Vanessa has no idea what, but she’d recognize Usnavi’s exaggerated pleading gestures from a mile off, hands clasped together and bouncing on the balls of his feet, it’s what he does whenever she’s got a snack he wants in on. Then he switches tactics, grabbing Ruben round the waist trying to physically carry him away. Ruben, unable to free himself, just goes floppy instead, dropping heavily to the floor and taking Usnavi down with him, both of them giggling.

“He used to do that when we were at the store and he decided it was time to go home,” Estefanía says. “Like a lead weight. Much easier to deal with when he was small enough to carry under one arm, of course.” She sighs and says, “I’m sorry if I made things complicated with the baby conversation the other day. Rubén said not to bring it up again, but I thought I should at least apologize.”

“I don’t want to take nothin' away from him,” Vanessa says, quietly. The last thing she ever wants is to do that. “Or get in the way of what he wants.”

“It wasn’t intended to put any pressure on. It’s enough to know that you two understand him.”

“Not always. We try.”

“That’s all anyone can do.” Estefanía’s eyes go distant and Vanessa can see a shadow of Ruben in her face, something wistful and determined and worn down by life all mixed up together.

She showed them some pictures of Ruben as a teen the night before: his graduation, his first day at college. He was a cute kid, chubby and awkward with a mouthful of metal, but Vanessa was preoccupied noticing all of the short sleeved shirts, the unscarred arms, and she could tell Usnavi was too. Sometimes they don’t really notice them any more, that’s just how Ruben looks. It’s jarring to be reminded it’s not always been that way.

“It must be difficult,” she says. “Seein' him change, I can’t imagine it.”

“Yes,” Estefanía agrees, a troubled look passing briefly over her face. “Things have never been what I hoped for him. Sometimes…sometimes I think I must have done something wrong. No parent wants their child to feel unworthy, and he always acted as though he thought he had to earn my love, like I might take it away if he got a bad grade. I can’t help but wonder if that’s why…but I see that changing now. You’ll never know how grateful I am.”

Vanessa kicks her shoes in the dirt at her feet and says, “I think…I think the fact that he’d keep your name no matter what, that he chose it, that says a lot. I think he’s always known exactly how much you love him.”

“Oh, I don’t think he could,” Estefanía says. “That would be impossible.”

She takes Vanessa’s hand between both of hers. “Vanessa, believe me, I know this kind of thing can be very difficult. But I told you all this because I thought you should know that when Ruben chooses family, he _truly_ means it, no matter what. And we’re all so very glad he chose you.”

Over with the others, Paola is standing upright on the swing, swaying her hips to get a slow momentum. Ruben grabs the back of the seat and starts to pull it back too high, grinning as Paola yells at him to stop. Vanessa tries to let herself feel what Estefanía must feel seeing all her children together and healthy and happy, what a relief it must be, and knows whatever she’s coming up with can’t possibly compare to the real thing.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

***

Usnavi’s still on bodega time so waking up on the morning of the 8th to Ruben and Vanessa’s alarms chiming out 7AM in near-unison is actually kind of a long sleep in for him. There’s only Vanessa in bed next to him, looking disoriented but still managing to smile.

“Happy birthday, babe,” she says drowsily, and flops her arm over his tummy in an uncoordinated attempt at a hug.

He undoes her braid so he can finger-comb through her hair. “Happy my birthday to you too,” he says.

“Thanks,” she says, snuggling against him as Ruben peeks in with a smile.

“You’re awake,” he says. “Hold on a sec.”

He disappears briefly and returns with an envelope tucked under one arm and holding a cupcake, carefully shielding the lit candle with his other hand.

“Oh, look, I’m one years old today,” Usnavi says, as Ruben passes the cake to him and sits on the bed. Vanessa sits up and shuffles round so they’re all facing each other like three corner points on an equilateral triangle.

“You try getting twenty-six candles on a cupcake,” Ruben says. “Happy birthday, querido. Make a wish.”

“You gotta sing to me first,” Usnavi demands. “Otherwise it won’t come true.”

“The bossiest birthday boy,” Vanessa grumbles, but they both oblige.

Usnavi conducts along with his hand, blows the candle out when they finish then balances the cake on his knee so he can open his card. “Oh my god! This is so cute,” he enthuses. Its a simple but skilfull little cartoon, three almost-stick figures, one in a blue sweater and the other with long hair, holding hands with a red-shirted stick figure in the centre. Ruben almost never shows them his drawing. Usnavi carefully stands the card up on the bedside cabinet safely out of the way then sticks his finger in the cupcake frosting to taste it. “Aw, yeah. I love you both so much.”

Ruben smiles, takes the cupcake out of his hand to put it on the side next to the card.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Usnavi protests, then “ _oh_ , I see,” when Vanessa flings a leg over him to straddle his lap, hands on his chest and her eyes so pretty and excited. “Damn, girl, those wishes work fast, right?”

“I hope you didn’t waste your wish on this,” Ruben says. “We do it all the time anyway.”

“Eh, I don’t need wishes,” Usnavi says. “I already have everythin' a boy could dream of right here.”

“Oh, so you don’t want a bj then?”

“Or your actual present?”

“No, no, I still want both of those, gimme,” Usnavi says.

Vanessa smirks and Ruben moves behind him, close enough Usnavi can feel his breath. Vanessa kissing him hard, pushing him so his back is flat against Ruben’s chest and then she moves kissing down his stomach and - fuck, _yes_.

Usnavi gathers Vanessa’s hair in his hand to keep it out of the way, closes his eyes, sings _happy birthday to me_ under his breath until Ruben finds a better way to keep his mouth occupied.

***

Vanessa had told him he must be insane when he suggested that he could keep Ruben’s family entertained for the day while the other two are busy, but Usnavi’s pretty excited for it. Now they’ve got past the first awkward introductions, why bother being self-conscious? That’s just wasting time that could be better spent having fun, and who better to take them on a tour, anyway? This is his home, it’s his, it’s him and it’s Vanessa and it’s Ruben too: Usnavi wants to make sure they see how great it is to live here, so they can see Ruben made exactly the right decision coming to the best city in the whole world.

And it was either that or spend the day alone, since everyone else is at work or school. Usnavi’s fine with not having a party, he doesn’t usually do that anyway. His birthday is never so much a celebration of his life as it is just a relief that this means the holidays are finally over for another year, another December behind him. Usually he’s busy at work himself, twice as busy as he’d normally be and with a renewed energy, doing early spring cleaning in the winter because he’s so looking forward to the lighter, brighter months ahead. Not an option any more, but taking the Marcados on a miniature tour of some of his favorite spots is a good alternative.

Usnavi actually entirely forgets that it’s his birthday, which is how he prefers it, up until they stop to get a drink and a snack in some coffee place Usnavi’s never tried before - he loves that his city is so sprawling he never runs out of new places, even after a lifetime, and also he loves that he’s getting cake twice in the same day - and when they all finish eating Estefanía hands over a neatly-wrapped package, with one of those spirally curly ribbons and everything.

“What?” Usnavi says, bewildered.  
  
“Happy birthday,” she says. Paola and Mercedes echo her in unison.

“Oh!” He takes the present and feels it. It’s light and floppy, like clothes, maybe? “You already donated to Sonny’s fundraiser,” he protests. “You really don’t have to—“

“Don’t be silly, we wanted to. It’s just a small gift.”

“We already bought it now, anyway,” Mercedes points out.

Can’t argue with that, so Usnavi carefully takes the ribbon off and pulls the present open by the tape at the seams, feeling like his usual way of tearing straight into something is somehow inappropriate. Inside is a sweater, very similar to the ones Ruben wears but not as high up around the neck as his, and instead of deep blue it’s scarlet-red.

“Rubén said this is your color.”

“Yeah,” he says, and for some reason his voice is all thick. They got him a gift. That’s so nice of them, they’re so _nice_. “This is my color. It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Usnavi, are you alright?” says Paola very gently, after he doesn’t speak for like a full minute, staring down at the sweater and rubbing his thumbs across the sleeve. It’s very soft. Usnavi can tell it’s better quality than most of his current hand-me-down and thrift-store wardrobe.

Usnavi nods. He can’t speak, he’s not really sure what’s wrong. Or if anything even _is_ wrong. It’s just a sweater. He feels the way it feels when a song has a perfect string section and the violin ekes out that one flawless ringing vibration inside him as if the bow is pulling right across his nerves like strings, when he doesn’t know if he needs it to stop or if he wants to play it on loop until his heart gives out. He survived another December, this one scraping way closer than he’s comfortable with, but he did it. It’s his birthday and he got a blowjob and a cupcake for breakfast. The coffee here is okay but there’s a faint burnt aftertaste, Usnavi would have made it so much better in the store. It’s his birthday and he’s twenty-six and in love twice over and with his whole life stretching out unmapped ahead of him. Vanessa’s gonna be leaving soon and Usnavi is too scared of that happening to even think about it. It’s his birthday and his boyfriend’s mom bought him a sweater in his color, that perfect shade of deep, vibrant red that somehow means _Usnavi_ as much as recognizing his own face in a mirror.

He loses the fight, a tear dropping down either cheek and once it starts they keep coming. His breath hitches once but he’s not really crying properly, no sobs or even sadness, just tears there on his face like soft rain.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Estefanía says, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, let’s step outside and get some fresh air. Girls, wait here, don’t talk to anyone, we’ll be back in a minute.”

He lets her lead him out the door to a bench across the street still in eyeline of the coffee place. Usnavi can’t properly remember any more what it used to feel like when his mother held him so he doesn’t know if this is the same, but the concerned, maternal stream of comforting words in Spanish is familiar enough that he can pretend just for a minute that this is his own mamá, sitting him down and hugging him until he pulls himself together, telling him it’s going to be okay.

“If you didn’t like the sweater you could have just said so,” Estefanía tells him when he sits back away from her, and it’s a weak joke but somehow it works and Usnavi feels normal again, one of those sudden summer storms that starts and ends in an instant. That was weird. And embarrassing.

“No, I love it,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I’m sorry, that was…I don’t know. Sorry. I swear I’m not always this, uh, delicate.”

“It’s alright,” she says, handing him a tissue. “Rubén told me everything that’s been happening.”

“Maybe we don’t mention this to him?” he asks hopefully, wiping his eyes again because they haven’t quite got the memo that feelings time is done now. Estefanía gives him a look.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, “But it’s nowhere near as bad as it was, and it’d only make him worried. Can’t we keep this one between us? For his sake?”

He gives his most pleading gaze, and can see her instantly relenting with a laugh. “Ay, I should have known you’d be trouble. How often does that look work on Rubén?”

“Pretty much every time,” Usnavi answers. “Please, Estefanía?”

“Our secret, then. But!” she holds a warning finger up before he can thank her. “Only if you promise me you’re working on it. And don’t think I won’t find out if you aren’t.”

“I’m gettin' there,” he promises.

***

They all go out for dinner together, part celebration and part goodbye because Ruben’s family leave first thing tomorrow, and Ruben keeps having to put his cutlery down and just marvel quietly to himself about where things are right now. Vanessa’s in a gorgeous green dress and Usnavi’s wearing a nice shirt under his new red sweater (it looks perfect on him, Ruben knew it would), and he’s _actually_ dating both of them, and they’re sitting on either side of him with their feet pressed against his feet hidden under the table like a good kind of secret. His family are here. Things are pretty good. His life turned out pretty good.

After dinner, Vanessa and Usnavi leave together, Ruben heading back to the hotel his family are staying at to spend a few hours alone with them. They talk and argue happily and Ruben lounges on one of the beds, Paola lays her head against his shoulder, Mercedes ruffles his hair and draws stars on his cheek in eyeliner pencil and he doesn’t flinch away, he doesn’t need to ask them to stop, he can be their big brother whole and in one piece right now

It gets late. Ruben should leave. He really doesn’t want this to end yet.

“Rubén?” his mom says, careful and quiet.

“I’m okay,” he says. She sits by him and puts a hand on his knee. He tries to smile.

Paola grabs Mercedes by the wrist and announces “we’re going to the vending machine in the lobby and may be some time.”

“We just ate?” Mercedes says. Paola tugs her arm pointedly. Mercedes assesses Ruben’s facial expression and says “oh yeah the vending machine goodbye let’s go” and the two of them leave in a hurry.

“Cariño, talk to me, por favor,” Mamá says worriedly.

“I’m okay, really I am,” he reassures her. “I enjoyed this weekend.”  
  
“Me too. I’m glad we could do this. It did me good to see how well you fit here.”

“Do you really have to go back?” he asks even though he knows the answer, feeling like he’s just been dropped off at kindergarten for the first time.  
  
“Oh, mijo, I’m sorry. We’ll be back so soon, though,” she answers. “So much sooner this time, I promise. And when we sell the house you’ll be able to come stay with us too. And if you need us we’re only a phonecall away.”

“I just wish you could always be here.”

“So do I, Rubén,” she says, hugging him. “But this is where your life is for now. What you have here is very special.”

“I know that,” Ruben says. He wouldn’t change it, even if he misses his family terribly sometimes. He’s right where he needs to be. “I know.”


End file.
